


rookie mistake

by prettydizzeed



Series: I don't wanna go alone [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Bodhi Rook Needs a Hug, Cassian Andor-centric, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, POV Cassian Andor, Touch-Starved, maybe a little more than light but there are sweet moments too?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 10:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettydizzeed/pseuds/prettydizzeed
Summary: Technically, Cassian could just take it. Leave. Even take the whole trunk and look for it later. This man wouldn't—couldn't—stop him. Couldn't report him without getting caught by the Empire, or if he managed to find a local government official without his wanted picture, explaining what he had that was so important to a rebel spy and why he’d had a moment of weakness strong enough to bring a stranger into his room. But being forceful caused problems, gave Cassian zero deniability. And—In another life, he would've picked this guy up at a bar because he wanted to. And Bodhi was a lot more attractive and a lot gentler than most people he did this with.Cassian Andor, he thought, you are really kriffed up.Well. Nothing to do about it now.---In which Bodhi has Galen Erso's holo message, and Cassian is tasked with getting it. (I'm so sorry for the title pun.)





	rookie mistake

**Author's Note:**

> there wasn't enough of this pair so i made a dang account to add some. (first fanfic)
> 
> i love jyn but bodhi is so into cassian and i just want them to be happy and instead i write this angst whoops

The sketchy bar had an even sketchier back room.

All of Cassian’s subtle questions (“I'm looking for my brother-in-law, my sister says he goes here after they fight. Obviously I wasn't letting her come look.”) had gotten him nowhere. This place’s reputation of taking no names, no ages, and cash only seemed annoyingly accurate, so after it was obvious that the man he was looking for, the man he was assigned to find, wasn't in the main room, he pulled aside a different bartender and offered a few credits.

“I'm not normally a betting man, I swear, but—”

The bartender laughed, having heard this before as Cassian knew they would have, took the money, and pointed to a tattered curtain.

Cassian could smell the smoke before he pushed it aside and entered, substances that were varying degrees of illegal from at least a dozen different planets mixing into one patchwork high. Not all of the sabacc players are smoking, though, and the haze thinned as he approached a table whose players apparently needed as many of their wits about them as possible.

The pilot was clearly handing their asses to them.

His hair was longer than it had been on the grainy, hastily-made copy of his pilot’s license. (“He's jumpy, man,” the last rebel assigned to him had said, “Had to replace it with my fake papers while we made the copy, he kept reaching into his pocket to feel that it was there. Too risky, he already asked if he'd seen me before,” and all eyes went to Cassian, like they always did for a task no one else would attempt.) It was pulled back with a thick string, leather or something like it, wisps framing his face like a continuation of the lingering smoke. He tapped the pads of his fingers against the cards until someone elbowed him roughly, then paused for a minute until they resumed tapping, seemingly without his permission.

He had no discernible reason to be nervous—at least, not for the fate of the pile of credits in front of him—because he turned his hand over to show a perfect 23. Appearing to register the heightened volume of the other players’ grumbling, he gathered the credits plus the ones from that round and stepped toward the curtain.

“That was pretty amazing,” Cassian said when the man—his license said Bodhi, but papers could be faked—got close enough to him. He jerked his head up while stumbling a half-step back.

“Oh—um—thank you. I just—I just have a lot of practice, I guess.”

“Well.” Cassian smiled. “To a mere mortal like me, it seemed like a feat worth celebrating. With a drink, maybe? What do you want?” He stepped fully into the main room and Bodhi followed as if without realizing that he did so.

“Uh—I—I mean I'm the one who just… won all of this… It seems like I should buy my own drink.” He blinked. “Not that I'm having one.”

With someone else, this would've been coy, an invitation for Cassian to convince them to stay, a “make it worth my while,” a “change my mind.” Bodhi did not look anything other than serious.

Cassian would convince him anyway.

“I've got enough to spare. Besides, even if you pull that off on a regular basis, surely you've got something to celebrate.”

Bodhi furrowed his brow. “Not really.”

“All the more reason to get drunk, then.”

“I—I don't really drink around other people?”

“Okay, that's sad, now I really need a drink to forget that. Come on.” Cassian felt like he hadn't actually convinced him, more like he was afraid to reject a direct statement. Yikes. The guy wasn't bad-looking; Cassian wondered if he'd ended up in this situation before, trailing after someone pushy no matter what he'd rather be doing.

He ordered two drinks from the bartender he'd tipped earlier, something that didn't taste like it had as much alcohol as it did. Bodhi was just standing there, fidgeting, so Cassian nudged the bar stool next to him further out with his foot and nodded at it. He sat.

“Look, hey, if you really don't want to be doing this, you can leave. I'm okay with it, I'm used to it.” Cassian was, of course, counting on him not leaving, but a little bit of gentleman-plus-guilt-trip might help him out some.

“N–no—no, I'm good, I just. I don't really do this much. But…” Bodhi swallowed. “It's hard to imagine anyone… doing that. To you.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You're—you’re uh—that would be very rude. And it just seems unlikely because you're attractive,” he finished in a rush.

Nice. This wasn't entirely hopeless. Cassian took his drink from the bartender, paid, and passed the other to Bodhi.

His fingers were drawing little patterns in the condensation, but he did start to drink it.

“Uh… so what's your name?”

“Wess. Yours?” He hated the name, it didn't suit him, but his favorites were already known to enough people.

“Bodhi.”

Cassian smiled. He didn't think the papers were fake; everyday functions seemed stressful enough for this man without also maintaining another identity.

“So, what do you do, Bodhi?”

Cassian pulled out all of the loyal-citizen cards (“Oh god, wait, are you an _Imperial_ pilot? What's it like?”) and pretended not to notice Bodhi’s wince. He recounted anecdotes from his fake career in detail until the other man actually laughed. He ordered him another drink and watched his shoulders loosen, although slump was really more accurate, honestly, as if to his body, relaxing meant hiding even further. He still couldn't count on getting the outcome he needed.

“So,” Cassian began, his index finger tracing the rim of his empty glass, “where do cargo pilots stay in between deliveries?”

“Um, mostly on the ship I guess, sometimes in the barracks.”

“You said your ship is getting repaired, right? So are you in the barracks right now?”

“Oh, no, they were really full, already overcrowded, so the pilots who came in today were allowed to get, like, apartment rooms. On our own money, of course.”

He was a decent liar. Maybe because he always sounded like he himself didn't believe what he was saying. “Well, what you won at sabacc will hopefully cover yours.” 

“Yeah.”

“It'll be nice, though, having some privacy, right?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess, I uh, hadn't really thought about it?”

Kriff, this guy can't take a hint. “Well.” Cassian winked. “I'll be here, whenever you think about it.”

Bodhi's face paled, and then flushed all at once. “I—um—are you—?”

Cassian shrugged, smiled. “I am.”

“Um—give me a second.”

He could hear Bodhi pacing along the side wall of the now almost-empty bar, talking to himself so quietly it almost sounded like breathing.

Bodhi walked back to the bar. “Okay.” It was almost a whisper. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow, smiled, and stood up. “Lead the way.”

*

The room looked like it had all of Bodhi's things in it—clothes, an old flight manual, a small trunk—Cassian noticed with relief. If he’d left his stuff on the ship he'd deserted, this would be pointless. But if he had what the rebellion thought he had, there was no way he'd do that.

Technically, Cassian could just take it. Leave. Even take the whole trunk and look for it later. This man wouldn't—couldn't—stop him. Couldn't report him without getting caught by the Empire, or if he managed to find a local government official without his wanted picture, explaining what he had that was so important to a rebel spy and why he’d had a moment of weakness strong enough to bring a stranger into his room. But being forceful caused problems, gave Cassian zero deniability. And—

In another life, he would've picked this guy up at a bar because he wanted to. And Bodhi was a lot more attractive and a lot gentler than most people he did this with.

 _Cassian Andor_ , he thought, _you are really kriffed up._

Well. Nothing to do about it now.

Bodhi had walked in first, fidgeting with his keys, so Cassian closed the door behind them. 

“Is it okay if I kiss you now?” he asked, mostly to dispel the gross weight of his recent thoughts.

Bodhi's eyes widened as if he hadn't fully processed where this was going until now. He nodded. When Cassian cupped his cheek, he pressed into the caress almost imperceptibly, unaware of doing so. _Touch-starved._

As if to prove this point, he was making small half-moans before Cassian's lips had even been on his a full minute.

“What do you want?” Cassian breathed against his jaw, trying to undo his hair tie.

“I don't—I—it doesn't matter—” His hair fell around his shoulders.

Cassian kissed his jawline. “It matters.”

“I don't know. It—it's been a while.”

“Okay. Well how about we make it to the bed first, then we'll figure it out.”

Bodhi exhaled. “Yeah.”

After kissing him again, Cassian shrugged off his jacket, took off his shirt, tried not to smile at _finally_ seeing obvious interest in Bodhi's eyes. He was careful not to touch the Imperial insignia as he unbuttoned Bodhi's uniform shirt.

“Is this okay?”

“Y–yeah.” 

_I'm going to be so gentle with you_ , Cassian thought, and then the part of him that died a new death every time he did these missions added, _It's going to kill you tomorrow._

He moved to the next button.

He let himself stare at Bodhi's chest for exactly 4 seconds before looking away and undoing his own belt.

When they were both in their underwear, after kissing as every individual article of clothing was removed like kriffing teenagers—normal ones, who didn't already have blaster callouses at 14 or a control over a cargo ship at 16—Cassian guided him to the bed. Knelt over him. Ran his palms down Bodhi's arms, chest. Bodhi's eyelids were fluttering so much Cassian didn't even know if he could see him.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this?” he asked. Softly.

“No.” He paused like he was trying to reconsider. “No.”

Cassian stroked his sides, backed up a little and touched his thighs lightly, watched his eyes close fully and his lips part.

When he kissed the inside of his thighs, Bodhi finally started touching him back.

*

Cassian touched all of him. Kissed all of him. Practically did the closest thing to kriffing _making love_ he'd ever managed and knew anyone else would've called it that if they didn't have years and years of a war effort in their body, if they weren't hearing another alias from Bodhi's lips. Cassian held him as he fell asleep.

Then he got dressed, opened the trunk, found the chip with Galen Erso’s message on it, and headed for the door.

He almost said something, but he reminded himself of all the thousands of times he'd sworn never to apologize for the cause. _Everyone has done terrible things on behalf of the Rebellion._

He opened the door.


End file.
